


untouched

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Marathon Sex, Anal Fingering, Begging, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fisting, Glove Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, Married Sheith, Mirror Sex, Name-Calling, Overstimulation, Rimming, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Size Kink, Spanking, Suit Kink, and large hands, bent over a counter sex, incidentally this is also pretty sappy, the average amount of getting slapped around that you can expect from me, they're like......super in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: Shiro hasn't seen his husband in two weeks. He misses him. Meanwhile, he forgets to take off his leather gloves and Keithreallylikes that.





	untouched

**Author's Note:**

> this is. i mean. you know when you start out to write 3k of glove kink? based on a tweet you made one time? and then it ends up months later you have 13k and there IS glove kink but there is also so much else. but! this fic was joyous to write and i'm real glad it ended up going all the places it did!
> 
> so so so SO much thanks to [blue](https://twitter.com/sugarcubeshiro) for helping me get this into shape for posting!!! he saved my life on this one.
> 
> and final shout out to the 1k may writing group for helping me kick my ass into gear and throw the ending of this together instead of letting it linger in my head!

Shiro arrives home late in the evening to a quiet house. The only lights left on are the porch and the entryway, and Shiro locks the door behind him in the same movement that he turns off the porch light. Outside, rain falls in a torrent of wind, but with the door closed behind him, it fades away into a light rushing noise in the background.

Of course, as Shiro sheds his overcoat and throws it over a hook to dry, he’s still left wanting. Coming home isn’t enough just on its own; he has to follow his ears to the sound of more falling water and leave his shoes kicked off in a pile he would normally never tolerate. His socked feet slide silently across the hard floors all the way into the master bedroom and then its adjacent suite and the beautiful gift waiting for him there.

“Baby,” he says with feeling, his gaze more than appreciative.

Keith startles and spins around, staring out at Shiro through the clear glass door of their shower. The details of his body are hazy, obscured by clinging condensation and fat drops of water sliding down, but it isn’t difficult for Shiro to imagine what lies beneath. 

It takes a moment of open-mouthed shock, but Keith quickly launches into motion.

“Shiro!” he says, and he scrambles for the shower knob. It sputters under his hands, and he wrenches the sliding door to the left so he can spring out onto the tile.

Keith throws himself across the room, not quite into Shiro’s waiting arms but he takes Shiro’s face between both his hands and plants a hard kiss on his mouth, both sweet and needy at the same time. The ends of his hair are wet, brushing against Shiro’s forehead, and his long fingers stroke at Shiro’s cheeks and jawline, coaxing his mouth further open and conveying a stark neediness. Shiro sighs into it, trying to pull Keith closer to let that need take them both, but he meets resistance.

“I’m soaked,” Keith protests, the words slurred between kisses.

Shiro whispers, “I really,  _ really  _ don’t give a shit.”

With one final tug at Keith’s waist, Shiro yanks him in. Again, Keith tries to resist, to drag his wet body away from the front of Shiro’s suit—it is, after all, the nice charcoal gray one from Armani. 

But Shiro didn’t dump his suitcase on the floor of the entryway to worry about a little water getting on a suit bound for the dry cleaners anyway. He hasn’t seen Keith in two weeks—plus an extra six hours, thanks to a flight delay—and he wants nothing more than to appreciate what it feels like to walk in on your naked, showering husband and have him abandon the water to jump straight into your arms.

“Missed you,” Keith says in a rush between kisses, his words torn out of his throat as Shiro kisses it, marks it. “Missed you so much,  _ Shiro—” _

The pure joy of seeing each other instantly becomes a kindled, sparking fire.

Shiro soothes his tongue over the bite he just left below Keith’s jaw. Keith is a livewire underneath his touch, and Shiro crushes them together, sliding his hands over every bit of skin he can find. There’s a lot to choose from, all of it smooth and sensitive and deceptively soft, pulled taut over Keith’s lithe muscles. The holy grail is Keith’s ass, generous and yielding, utterly exquisite. It’s not that Shiro only missed Keith for his ass—that would be grossly reductionist—but Shiro is starved for touching him, their daily phone calls not enough to make up for the lack of body heat and tactile feeling.

Keith sinks into the touch, welcomes Shiro’s hands squeezing hungrily at him, and he acts no different, his hands sliding across Shiro’s shoulders, squeezing at his biceps, pushing up Shiro’s suit jacket so he can dig his nails into Shiro’s back over his shirt. Keith plasters his whole body against Shiro’s and pushes a thigh between his legs,   pressing up against his rapidly hardening dick. 

“Love you,” Shiro rasps out. 

Keith moans in response, kisses him harder. His mouth, hot and open, is still one of the best things Shiro has ever experienced. 

The way they fit together is heavenly. Keith’s tongue sweeps so sweetly into Shiro’s mouth, almost devious in wrenching control back from Shiro. His hands take Shiro’s jaw again and tilt his head to the side and Shiro can do nothing but follow. Keith tastes like home and lightning and Shiro falls into him, gasping into Keith’s mouth when Keith’s fingernails scratch through the shaved hair at the back of his head. Keith bites at Shiro’s bottom lip and the kiss breaks on Shiro’s ragged groan.

He whispers, “Fuck, baby.” The words are as unsteady as Keith’s breath. 

Keith’s mouth is red and plump, his gaze heavy lidded. He looks like Shiro’s dream when he drags his eyes up to Shiro’s and says, “I want you.”

Shiro tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and crushes their mouths together.

A long, deep, filthy kiss, and Keith wraps a leg around Shiro’s hip. Shiro doesn’t stop to think about it or ask him: he leverages his hold on Keith’s ass and hauls him the rest of the way up until Keith’s ankles lock around his waist. Always closer, always harder, and Shiro feels a growl building up in his throat. Keith never lets go, only clings harder, and he bruises the underside of Shiro’s jaw with his questing mouth between the gasping meetings of their lips. Shiro can only moan, tipping his head back to give him more room to work. He’ll be proud to look like his husband owns him.

“You’re still wear—wearing your  _ gloves,”  _ Keith gasps on a break in their kiss. His hands clutch at Shiro’s shoulders, kneading at the muscle there and occasionally scraping his nails through the base of Shiro’s undercut.

Gloves. Right. Shiro forgot about those.

“Fuck,” he says, squeezing one last time at Keith’s ass before turning them so he can set Keith on the edge of the bathroom counter. With shaking hands, Shiro tries to pull one of his gloves off, hands out of sight behind Keith’s back. He doesn’t get very far.

“Don’t,” Keith says suddenly, reaching behind him to wrap around Shiro’s wrist and stop him from moving farther. They pause and Shiro looks Keith right in his dark, hungry eyes. Keith licks his lips. “Don’t take them off,” he says, voice dropping to its deepest register.

Shiro’s hands come back to rest on either side of Keith’s lower back. Like this, Shiro imagines, there’s no difference in feeling for Keith between his prosthetic and other hand, only the supple slide of expensive, well-treated leather. Keith bought him these gloves for Christmas this past year, claiming that having one hand that doesn’t suffer in the cold does not make it a good idea to forego gloves entirely. Shiro still disagrees on that point, but he likes them very much and appreciates the regular reminder that Keith cares for him.

But now, judging by the look in Keith’s eye, Shiro begins to think he might not have gotten them only for Shiro’s benefit.

“Yeah, baby?” Shiro asks. His hands slide down, framing Keith’s ass again and hefting him back up off the counter. He’s the perfect size for Shiro to hold.

Keith’s face shifts the tiniest bit. He bites his lip and lowers his eyelids, just barely looking at Shiro from underneath his lashes. It’s absolutely not a secret what the sight of that does to Shiro, who finds himself instinctually tightening his hold on Keith’s ass. 

“Did you miss me?” Keith asks. It’s the coy tone he only uses in very particular sorts of situations, and Shiro knows exactly what his responding role is.

“I missed you so much while I was gone, baby,” Shiro breathes into the crackling air between them. “I’ve been so lonely.”

“Lonely, huh.” Keith’s mouth twitches at the corner.

"Mhmm." Shiro nuzzles into the hinge of Keith's jaw, kissing him there. Keith huffs through his nose, verging on bratty with impatience, and Shiro reminds him what they're doing here with two fingers nudging inward, brushing just over where Shiro knows his hole is. Keith's breath catches. "You like it when I wear these, baby boy?"

"Yeah," Keith whispers, guilty like he's admitting something bad. "Your hands look so—so big in them."

“Is that why you want me to touch you with them?”

Keith’s throat clicks as he swallows. “Yeah,” he says again, a little surer of himself.

Shiro watches in the mirror as he strokes one hand up and down Keith's spine and the other stays wrapped around his ass.  _ Big _ doesn't quite describe how Shiro’s hands look: they’re huge next to Keith. The black gloves on Keith’s skin create the most beautiful contrast, and when Shiro moves his hand in just the right way, he can see Keith’s hole peeking out at him, taunting him.

He brushes his fingertips over it again, feels Keith’s gasp against his neck. “You like that?” Shiro asks, touching him there, and Keith nods furiously.

“Open me up for you,” Keith says. He scrapes his teeth across the jut of Shiro’s throat. “Please, Shiro, I need you so bad.”

“I bet you do.” 

Shiro prods at Keith, the alien sensation of touching without truly feeling getting to him more than he expected. He wiggles his finger until it’s pushed inside Keith, barely up to the fingernail, but Keith moans like he’s aching and starving for it. Beautiful, and all for Shiro.

He can’t take it anymore.

Shiro seizes the back of Keith’s hair, pulling him away so he can stare into Keith’s eyes. His mouth is red and his gaze wild; his parted lips pant out these sweet little breaths of air that Shiro wants to swallow up. 

They stare at each other until it almost drives Shiro crazy, wanting him so much. He tightens his grip on Keith’s hair, squeezes at his ass with his other hand. 

Impossible to stop touching.

“Please,” Keith says, his eyes teary with what’s probably pain, but Shiro loves to imagine it’s purely desire. Maybe it’s both, a cacophony of pleasure and distress reverberating through Keith’s body as he struggles to express it. “Please, daddy, I need—”

The name ignites Shiro, coming unbidden from Keith, a word he almost never uses unless Shiro goads him into it first. He crushes their mouths together, kissing Keith savagely with what anyone else would call too much teeth, but Keith loves that. He moans and whines right back into Shiro, pressed so tight Shiro can feel Keith’s hard cock against his stomach and the bite of Keith’s nails in the back of his neck.

Shiro likes that prick of pain too, likes the rush of it. Keith’s sharp little fangs snag at Shiro too when he gets rough, always just a little too long to be completely normal.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart,” Shiro says, guiding Keith’s legs to drop from his waist.

Keith lets his feet fall but he doesn’t stop kissing Shiro, sucking Shiro’s tongue into his mouth and clinging ever closer. And it’s not as if Shiro can resist him—especially not now, with their normal height difference restored. 

Shiro towers over Keith, sandwiching his body between Shiro’s and the bathroom vanity, and Keith has to bend to accommodate Shiro. The air is full of heavy breaths and spit-slick sounds, the nasty kind you wouldn’t even hear in a romance movie, and Shiro loves it because he craves that deeply instinctual way Keith makes him feel. He doesn’t have to think about anything outside of this room, this body, this moment—he has Keith, and Keith has him, and they have this connection so basic and easy that Shiro doesn’t hesitate to call it fate. 

And when they kiss, when Shiro’s tongue tastes Keith at his most open, he only ever wants more. He knows he’ll never have enough, that this moment is perfect and he’ll need it again. Two weeks, he left for two weeks, and Shiro is a starving man now. 

He kisses Keith like his life depends upon it, and that’s because it does.

The kiss only breaks when Shiro can’t stand it anymore. He needs more, needs the hot clutch of Keith opening up around him, welcoming him, and he needs Keith to feel every inch of it. 

Shiro puts his hands on Keith’s hips and tries to turn him around, but Keith is reluctant. He’s fallen back to Shiro’s jaw now that Shiro’s mouth is gone, kissing his skin with a slow, calculated dirtiness that almost distracts Shiro from what he wants.

“Baby boy,” he whispers, edged with a hint of steel, “I wanna see you.” 

Keith shakes his head, pays lip service to Shiro’s throat just above his collar. Keith’s hand has found his tie and wound itself all up in it. “Let me sit on the counter,” Keith says, not quite begging. “I don’t want to see it.”

“You don’t want to see how hot you are taking my dick?” Shiro wonders. Keith’s whole body shivers at the question, and Shiro buries his nose in the side of Keith’s hair, breathing in the scent of home. “You can’t even imagine what you look like, baby. Let me show you.”

“It’s  _ weird,”  _ Keith says, even as he gives into Shiro’s encouragement to turn around so his back is pressed up against Shiro's suit, buttons following the line of his spine. Keith lifts his arms and hooks his hands together around the back of Shiro's neck, his palms pressing flat just above the starched collar as Shiro pushes him up against the sink, trapping him again.

"See how pretty you look?" Shiro asks.

Keith's shy gaze skitters around the picture in front of them, embarrassment clear on his face, but Shiro can't get enough of this. There's a lot to look at. 

Shiro looks impossibly broad behind Keith, his height and wide shoulders exceeding every one of Keith's edges. His pale skin looks delectable underneath Shiro’s leather gloves.   Shiro’s hand easily spans most of Keith's stomach, brushing over abs straining with the arch of his back. Keith's mouth is open and panting, red, just a little swollen, and Shiro can't resist tracing that bottom lip with one thumb, the tip of a finger teasing at sliding inside. Keith always looks so beautiful choking around Shiro's thick fingers, his eyes wild with it while Shiro tries to keep him silent, but today Shiro wants to hear every little sound that comes out of his mouth. 

Shiro’s hand drops from Keith’s lips to his collarbone, settling just at the base of his neck. He holds him loosely and admires the difference in delicacy, in the obviousness of Shiro’s strength and the hidden knowledge of Keith’s.

But it doesn't stop there. Keith’s breath comes quicker at the sight of his vulnerable throat under the spread of Shiro’s fingers, and Shiro indulges him, just a little, shifting his hand up a scant inch or two. Keith’s lips part on a gasp so small that Shiro can’t even hear him. 

“You look so fucking good in leather, baby,” Shiro growls in his ear. “Maybe I should buy you a collar, so you can look this good all the time.”

Keith whimpers, high pitched and tortured.

They're both mesmerized, staring in the mirror as Shiro moves on, playing leisurely with one of Keith's nipples. Keith's entire chest blushes red with arousal, and it's impossible for Shiro's gaze to keep from falling to his cock, hard and flushed dark. 

"Is this all for me, baby?" Shiro asks. He runs one gloved finger along the side of it, teasing at the wetness along the head. He makes Keith lick the mess off his hand and Keith’s stomach tenses.

Keith offers a shaky nod. 

"Tell me. I want to hear you say it," Shiro says. He toys with the head of Keith's cock, watches his gaze in the mirror dip down to the sight and dart back up. 

"It's—it's all for you," Keith murmurs. Their eyes meet, and Shiro smiles. He presses a kiss to the side of Keith's head.

“All for who?”

Keith swallows audibly. “You, daddy.”

"All mine," Shiro says into his hair. He realizes it’s damp but not wet—Keith must not have been in the shower very long before Shiro opened the bathroom door. "I wanna see what else is mine."

Keith's eyebrows knit together in confusion for the barest moment before Shiro starts urging him down, a hand in the middle of Keith's back and one at his hip bending him down until his chest meets the counter. The way Keith bends for him says something that words never could.

And god, his ass.

Shiro is riveted. He knocks a knee between Keith's thighs, pushing them open, and Keith obliges. He looks back at Shiro over his shoulder, mouth still open and destroying Shiro's ability to think. 

“Please,” Keith says, pushing his ass back into Shiro’s touch. The way his spine arches, easy and willing, turns him into this hungry thing, begging not just with words but with his entire being, and it drives Shiro wild. He digs his fingers into the meat of Keith’s ass just to hear him moan in surprise.

“Look at yourself, look how fucking needy you are,” he murmurs. “Can't even go a week without my dick, huh?”

“Missed it so much,” Keith gasps.

“I can tell.”

Keith’s eyes find Shiro’s in the mirror, not hiding the fact that he still refuses to look himself in the eyes like Shiro asked. They’ll have to figure that out because Shiro  _ needs _ Keith to watch. 

“I touched myself every night,” Keith says, “thinking about you.”

“About my cock?” Shiro asks. He’s throbbing in his slacks, but it’s not time yet—Keith is speaking, and it’s dangerous listening to what he has to say. Every word from his mouth is nectar; every breath, Shiro’s heart. He aches with desire, with the need to show Keith how much he missed him, but the game is too good. 

“Sometimes,” Keith admits. 

“You should call me next time,” Shiro says. He abandons Keith’s ass for a moment to smooth a broad palm up Keith’s spine, admiring how good they look together. “I’d like to hear you, baby. I love when you beg me for it.”

Keith rasps, “I’m begging right now.”

Despite himself, Shiro laughs, light as air. Never betray desire, because Keith knows him too well. He’ll exploit it to get Shiro inside him before it’s time. “You’re not begging. Not yet.”

_ “Please,  _ daddy.”

“Good enough for now.”

It’s hard to decide what to do. Shiro wants so bad to make Keith cry using only his tongue, tease him until he’s begging for Shiro to touch him and make him come. But still, he wants to fuck Keith, to get as close to him as can be. Come deep inside him and then eat it back out with his shoulders right in between Keith’s still-shaking knees.

He pauses for a moment of indecision.

The second one. Definitely the second one, because nothing is better than Keith wet and dripping and sobbing out his overstimulation. Nothing.

Shiro pulls the lube from the bottom counter drawer, an untouched bottle. Keith widens his stance even further, settling into it even as his determined eyes refuse to meet their match in the mirror. He stubbornly watches Shiro open the bottle, but his defiance can only last for so much longer. 

Soon, Shiro bets, Keith will have nothing left to do but stare at his own fucked out expression. Together, they’ll make sure that happens. 

Shiro uses one hand to spread Keith’s ass open for him, make his most vulnerable places easy to see. His hole is so tempting and beautiful, and Shiro wants to wreck it in the best way, over and over until Keith is drooling with his inability to speak. 

The first finger goes in with ease. Keith sighs out this happy little noise, accepting Shiro inside him with excitement and practice. 

Watching Keith open up around not just Shiro’s finger, but one wearing a black glove, is a surprise unto itself. He’s so pink all around it, pretty and almost delicate, completely obscene underneath Shiro’s touch. It’s hard to tell exactly what Keith is thinking, his face in the mirror lined at the forehead when Shiro meets his gaze.

“How’s that?” Shiro asks. His lips are dry. 

Keith shifts side to side, impatient. “It’s not enough,” he complains, a little crease settled between his eyebrows. “I’m still  _ empty.” _

“Desperate.”

Shiro holds off on adding a second finger just to torture him a little. Besides, he’s man enough to admit he enjoys the hell out of playing with Keith’s hole like this—the leather is a new addition and Shiro misses tactile sensation a little, but Keith is beautiful, pink and open. He’s even more beautiful when he wiggles his ass from side to side in an attempt to entice Shiro into giving him what he wants.

He certainly knows what works. Shiro relents when his own arousal becomes too much for him to ignore: teasing Keith almost always comes at Shiro’s own expense, and he can only do so much to hold back. He wants Keith with an impossible hunger to match Keith’s, but their games aren’t nearly as fun if Shiro gives in too fast. 

Keith sighs in satisfaction as Shiro presses another finger inside. 

He opens up so easily around Shiro—too easily, actually, because Shiro knows Keith’s body well enough by now to recognize when he’s too yielding. 

“You were playing with yourself earlier,” Shiro says, crooking his fingers and dragging them inside Keith. He can’t imagine how the leather feels inside, but Keith’s face is shocked and hungry in the mirror. “Tell me, baby, I know you were.”

Keith’s cheeks blush redder but he refuses to talk, his eyes darting up to Shiro’s and back down to the counter. Still won’t look himself in the eye yet, but he will. He will.

“Baby.” Shiro spanks Keith just once, lightly, and watches his eyelids flutter shut at the feeling. “Look at yourself. Did you touch yourself today?”

Keith licks at his lips and disobeys the order. “Maybe,” he admits.

“Did you imagine it was me?”

There. That’s a guilty look, right there on Keith’s face, and he tightens up for just a second around Shiro’s fingers. Shiro spanks him again and fucks his fingers roughly into Keith. “You didn’t think about me?”

“No, no, I did,” Keith gasps, “but . . . .”

Shiro likes the rhythm of this, likes how Keith’s whole body tenses up when Shiro hits him and then he spills another secret.

“My fingers,” Keith says like it's a dirty little secret, “they’re not big enough, not like yours.”

“Not big enough, huh?” It's too soon probably, but Shiro slips a third finger in, watching Keith shudder and shake beneath him. Keith moans at the stretch, tight around Shiro, and his face is so flushed, especially at the high points of his cheeks. His hands press uselessly against the countertop underneath him, scrabbling for purchase as Shiro fucks him with a slow dedication. It's obscene, how Keith opens up so easily for this. For anything, really.

“Is this what you imagined it would be like?” Shiro asks. His own voice is strained now from wanting, but the desire to wring Keith out dry overwhelms. He's not giving up until Keith comes begging on nothing but Shiro's gloved fingers.

Keith shakes his head after a moment. “Wanted your—you to fill me up,” he says, catching himself before he can get too nasty. He gets embarrassed easily, doesn’t know how to ask Shiro for the things he wants.

Shiro takes pride in his ability to wring it out of Keith anyway.

“You wanted my what?” he asks. Shiro rubs a hand up and down Keith's spine, smoothing him over with the drag of leather. Keith shivers under the touch. “Talk to me, baby, tell me what exactly you wanted.”

Keith whines,  _ “Daddy,” _ but Shiro isn't about to let him get away with silence just because his eyes and mouth are pretty.

“You have to tell me, baby boy, or I'll have to punish you.” He swats at Keith's ass in warning, and Keith stubbornly turns his head to lay the other cheek on the counter, pointedly refusing Shiro's gaze. “Keith. This is your last warning.”

Silence greets him, stubborn and defiant. 

“Is that your answer?” Shiro asks. His fingers still and Keith sighs heavy through his nose. 

There’s a hair’s breadth of a moment where Shiro thinks Keith is about to give in. His hands, spread wide on either side of his shoulders and clinging tightly to the counter, tense for just a second. His spine moves with his breathing and his shoulders twitch.

But that’s all there is. Keith says nothing, always defiant and needy, and so Shiro has nothing to do but take his fingers out, leaving Keith empty and wanting. Keith whines, of course he does, but he quiets down as soon as Shiro presses a thumb to his hole, tracing the rim. Shiro doesn’t give him any more than that, just the tease of something inside. It’s what Keith wants, after all.

But it’s not what Shiro wants.

He slaps Keith’s ass hard, catching him off guard. Keith moans and his head snaps up, his wide, dark eyes staring at Shiro in disbelief.

“Shiro—” he starts, but Shiro is there to interrupt.

“Tell me how you imagined me fucking you.”

Keith’s ass fucking  _ bounces _ under his hands like this, blushing red with every smack as Shiro lays into him. Hiccuped breaths fall from Keith’s mouth, needy even as he refuses to tell Shiro what he wants to hear. This is what he needs, though, to be goaded into giving Shiro what he already wants.

Keith won’t say the words. He never does, not until Shiro manages to make the right, uh, encouragement happen.

And Keith sounds especially beautiful like this, every cry echoing around their tiled bathroom. Shiro has a wild thought that he hasn’t taken enough advantage of this bathroom, even though they’ve lived in this house together for three years. White tile all around, a huge mirror spanning from the ceiling to the countertop, a separate shower and tub for them to luxuriate in—all of it wonderful, and even better with Keith spread out across the bathroom counter, nothing but white marble and Shiro standing tall behind him.

He looks like he deserves to be fucked in a luxurious bed of pillows in front of a roaring fireplace. Instead, Shiro will give him this today and save that thought for when Keith isn’t being a complete fucking brat. 

“Talk to me, baby,” Shiro says. He switches hands just to make sure Keith’s whole ass is red and smarting, and the change makes Keith jolt. He looks right at Shiro in the mirror, his gasping mouth wide open with shock like he’s never felt this before. 

“Shiro—” he groans.

“Keith.”

Shiro keeps his voice level though his mind is anything but, and he has to resist the urge to bite his own lip at the picture Keith makes, naked before him and hair a dark halo around his head. 

“Please,” Keith begs, “please I need—please, Shiro, I need  _ more.” _

Shiro hits him again, the hardest one yet, and he delights in the breathy sob it induces. “Are you getting off on this?” he asks, planting his left hand right in the middle of Keith’s back to hold him down.

“M-maybe,” Keith says, his voice cut through with something that might be a laugh. It’s breathless and strained, and Shiro takes a moment to stroke a hand over Keith’s ass in response. It gets him a real laugh this time, and Keith grins up at him as best as he can with his mouth open and panting. “This was—was a horrible idea, Shiro.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best way to get Keith to spill his secrets, but Shiro can hardly call himself disappointed by the results. Keith is smiling and his ass is bright red and Shiro really,  _ really  _ likes the look of him like this.

“Baby boy,” he whispers. He touches the mole just above the swell of Keith’s ass, enticing enough that Shiro has come all over it more than once. “I know what you really wouldn’t like.”

Keith raises a brow at him in the mirror, and Shiro flicks both of his in response. 

“I’ll leave you here, all alone, and I won’t even let you come,” Shiro says. His smile grows bigger as horror dawns over Keith’s face. “You don’t like that, huh?”

Keith shakes his head.

“Tell me, then,” he says, squeezing Keith’s ass with both hands. “Tell me what you thought about while you had your little fingers up your greedy hole. What did you want?”

“Mmph.”

It’s a cute noise but it’s not going to get Keith anywhere.

Shiro turns his gaze back to Keith’s ass. On an impulse, he pulls Keith open so Shiro can see the whole of him, open and waiting, and he slaps Keith there. It’s not light in the least; Shiro lays into him with all his strength and makes him feel it.

Keith cries out into it, his whole body jolting. This is the first time all night that Keith has looked truly shocked and dismayed, eyes blown out in surprise, so Shiro does it again. And again. He seizes Keith by the hair, pulling his head up just enough to be an uncomfortable strain and Shiro leans down close so he can get his mouth right next to Keith’s ear, never breaking their gaze.

“I can do this all night,” Shiro says. It’s a threat and he says it like one. Keith swallows like he knows it, and deep in his eyes, Shiro reads him breaking.

“Your cock,” Keith whispers.

Triumph.

“What about it?”

“I missed—missed it,” Keith says. He shifts his weight from side to side, never enough to push Shiro’s weight off him, and Shiro drops his chest down another inch just to make sure Keith feels it completely. “I thought about it. You were gone for so long.”

“I know, baby.”

“I need you to fuck me,  _ please,  _ I missed it so much.” Keith twists his head at an almost impossible angle, gets his lips on Shiro’s jaw and leaves the sloppiest kiss there. Shiro meets him halfway, sliding their mouths together and dipping his tongue into Keith’s mouth. It’s lazy on Shiro’s end and desperate on Keith’s as he reaches an arm back to pull Shiro even closer. The kiss is uncomfortable and hot all at once, and Shiro bites Keith’s lip almost too hard before he pulls away.

Can’t let him have too much at once, of course.

“How many fingers did you use?” Shiro asks.

But Keith takes a moment to blink open his hazy eyes, mouth still open and wet from the kiss. “Huh?” he says, and then he blushes scarlet. “Um. Four.”

Shiro laughs. “Four fingers? And it still wasn’t enough?”

Keith shakes his head, embarrassed but determined. “You’re so much bigger than that,” he says, even though it looks like it kills him to have to say it out loud. It’s just the kind of thing Shiro loves to hear but Keith can hardly stand to say.

Shiro kisses his neck for the confession and stands back up, unwilling to give Keith too much yet. “Four fingers, and you still wanted more,” Shiro says. He drags his fingers again over Keith’s hole, admiring, and when Keith nods up at him in the mirror, Shiro slides his middle finger inside. Keith’s face goes from pleading to pleased   in the space of a second, his eyelids fluttering as Shiro strokes over right where he knows Keith’s prostate is.

“Yes . . . .” Keith hisses.

“We need to get something for you to play with while I’m gone, I think,” Shiro says. He keeps his tone light, almost disinterested, just because he knows how much Keith likes that. “Something big enough for your greedy hole, is that right?”

“I’m not—”

“Quiet.” Shiro shushes him and then slaps at his already bright red ass to remind him. “You’re so greedy, baby boy. So  _ fucking  _ greedy. Look at this.”

He shoves three fingers back inside Keith just to demonstrate, and Keith has nothing to offer but a moan. He takes Shiro so beautifully, not a hint of complaint in his reaction, and Shiro loves him. Keith whines, “Daddy,” and pushes up to the tips of his toes.

“Slut,” Shiro says affectionately.

“I’m—hn.”

Shiro, instead of letting Keith speak, goes right for Keith’s prostate instead. He knows Keith’s body as well as he knows his own, every trick to get him squirming and panting underneath Shiro. It’s easy to strip Keith to pieces like this, to send him gasping almost cross-eyed with pleasure as Shiro touches him. It’s a time-honored part of their relationship that Shiro takes great joy in.

“Look at yourself,” Shiro says, pulling his fingers out. Of course, Keith doesn’t obey—instead he only whines, so Shiro slaps his hole again. The sound is all the more satisfying when Keith is wet with lube. “I said  _ look.” _

Keith glances at himself. His eyes get big, face already too flushed to redden any farther. Close, they’re so close to Shiro breaking Keith down to pieces and putting him in his most desperate place. He burns with the desire to see it happen and he knows that every word, every touch, all of it gets Keith that much closer.

“Four fingers,” Shiro muses. He touches Keith’s hole; his gloves are shiny with lube, and the sight of leather against Keith’s most intimate places gives him nasty, awful ideas. His hand  _ is _ big, his wrist  _ is  _ thick compared to Keith’s, but Keith is resilient. He’ll take anything as long as it’s Shiro giving it to him.

Shiro wants to give him everything.

Three fingers in to the knuckle and Shiro teases his smallest finger at the rim stretched around him.

Keith pants heavy, his back rising and falling with it. He’s so pliant, so beautifully, graciously compliant, and even his moments of resistance and mocking are attractive. They’re what make him  _ Keith,  _ the man Shiro loves, because Keith only submits when he wants to. He only lets Shiro in like this. He only takes four fingers from Shiro, Shiro’s second hand still planted on the small of his back to stop him from squirming around too much. Like this, Keith is loud, every breath falling in a tail end of a whimper. Shiro can see clear as day where Keith is drooling on the bathroom counter, too busy panting and crying to close his mouth or catch himself.

Shiro likes that.

He likes that a lot, almost as much as he likes the eye-catching way Keith opens up for Shiro’s fingers.

“Fuck me,” Keith says, almost a whine. Shiro looks at his face, neck craned to peek up at Shiro standing tall behind him, and then to the messy hair reflected in the mirror above Keith. 

He makes a split second decision and threads the fingers of his spare hand through Keith’s hair, tugging his head up and around to look himself dead in the eye. Keith’s mouth drops open in shock and he tries to get away, but Shiro holds him fast.

“I’ll fuck you,” he promises, “but you have to watch yourself, baby. See how gorgeous you look taking my dick.”

“Shiro . . . .”

“Do you know what my favorite part is?” Shiro asks. He’s relentless, driving his fingers inside Keith and pulling tight on Keith’s hair. “Can you guess what my favorite part of fucking you is?”

Keith licks his lips and shakes his head. He answers in the negative, “Mm-mm.”

Shiro sighs and takes his fingers out of Keith, ignoring the inevitable protest. He pulls him all the way up by the hair so Keith’s shoulders are fully up against the front of his suit and Shiro can admire the red flush of Keith’s chest, the dark, coarse hair on his belly, his cock, hard and pink. All of it, for Shiro. 

Kissing the shell of Keith’s ear, Shiro dances his fingertips over Keith’s cock and whispers his answer almost too quietly to hear. “The shock in your eyes,” he says. “Your mouth falls open. Your fingers curl. It’s like you’re surprised every time how much I fill you up and make you take. How you moan for me, the noises you make.” Shiro has to close his eyes to compose himself. “And it’s all mine, baby boy. When I fuck you, you look like you’re  _ mine.” _

“Yours,” Keith breathes. His bright eyes burn coal black in the mirror, staring straight into Shiro’s own.

“Will you watch?” Shiro asks. He gives Keith’s cock one long, firm stroke and pushes his thumb teasingly through the wetness at the head. His second hand slides out from Keith’s hair to play with a nipple and crush Keith further back against him. “If you don’t look away, maybe I’ll even come inside of you.”

Keith moans, eyes sliding shut.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Shiro says, “me getting you absolutely filthy?”

A lip bite, and Keith nods. His eyebrows are drawn together like he’s concentrating, and that’s how Shiro knows his orgasm is close.

“Tell me.”

Shiro touches Keith with rhythm and purpose now, listening for the way he falls apart under Shiro’s touch. It takes him so long for his eyes to open and even longer for the haze in them to clear enough for him to speak, and the unfurling is beautiful to observe. Shiro can’t wait to deny him at the very last moment, to rip the pleasure and promise of coming right out from under Keith when he least expects it, but he wants to hear Keith speak first.

“Please,” Keith begs, so pretty from his mouth like that. “Please, I need you to come inside me.”

“Why? Why do you like it so much, baby boy? You know it’s bad to be messy like that and make me clean you up.”

“’S like—it’s like you own me,” Keith admits with a shiver. He slumps against Shiro, makes him hold Keith’s weight so Keith can get at his jaw with a whisper-kiss of lips. “I’ve been so lonely without you, daddy. I don’t want to forget who I belong to.”

“I doubt you’re in danger of that.”

Shiro lets go of Keith’s cock and pushes him back down to the counter, ignoring the upset huff it gets him. 

Shiro begins to undo his belt, the clinking of the buckle so loud in the space around them. The only other sound is Keith’s breathing and his bare feet shuffling on the tile below them. Fingers on his zipper, Shiro’s eyes drop to Keith’s ass. It’s still red from being thoroughly spanked, and Shiro feels a sharp spark of pride at that. “Spread yourself open for me, baby. I wanna see you.”

Keith obeys after a moment of hesitation. His fingers dig into his own ass, the flushed skin burning white under the pressure, revealing the treasure Shiro’s been waiting for. 

Even just having had four fingers inside him, Keith’s hole still looks so small, like something as large as the cock in Shiro’s hand shouldn’t be able to fit inside, much less feel pleasurable. But it can—it will—and as Shiro slicks himself up, he can’t deny the anticipation he feels from knowing how well Keith is going to take him.

“Look at yourself,” Shiro reminds Keith. “Watch.”

Shiro notches the head of his cock over Keith’s hole, teasing it. It’s difficult for Shiro to decide where  _ he  _ wants to look—Keith’s face is, of course, always sexy and wonderful. But there’s also the soft give   of him letting first Shiro’s head inside and then the thicker part of his cock following that, stretching and taking until Keith makes the quietest of noises and Shiro stops, not even all the way in yet, and he has to pull back slightly to get Keith used to it so he can fuck in even deeper and admire the way he twitches and shakes and—

The fantasy is as clear as day. Maybe he’ll watch Keith’s face today.

“Ready?” Shiro says. Keith’s eyes flick up to his in the mirror for a moment, but he nods and resettles his gaze on his own face. 

Keith yields beautifully.

He holds his own gaze and Shiro is proud of him for it, even as the unusually tense line of his spine betrays how much Keith would very much prefer not to. 

Keith’s moans are beautiful, echoing loudly.

“Is this what you needed?” Shiro says, his voice ragged just from how hot and tight Keith is around him, accepting the whole of Shiro into his body with hardly a hint of resistance. Here, with Shiro’s hips and the bite of his belt pressed right up against Keith’s bare skin, is where he belongs, and it takes everything in Shiro to keep himself from driving forward again and again. It’s too satisfying to wait, to hold steady while Keith acclimates to the stretch. 

Shiro asks, “Did you imagine this? Did you think of this with your own fingers inside yourself, trying so hard to keep yourself open for me?”

He expects those words to take Keith apart. What Shiro imagines coming next out of Keith’s mouth is another long, loud moan and a plea for Shiro to use him. Already his skin burns to think of it. But Keith is Keith, the kind of man who hasn’t once met Shiro’s expectations, only exceeded them in force, and so he does none of what Shiro hopes for.

What Shiro gets instead is the low shock of a breathless laugh and a slightly indignant, “What is—what is  _ this?” _

Shiro slaps his ass and has to hold back his own groan from how it makes Keith jump, tightening around Shiro for one brief, heavenly moment. “Don’t get smart with me,” he warns.

“But you haven’t even done anything, daddy,” Keith says. His voice wobbles as he says it—he’s pushing back but he’s barely coherent at the same time He shuffles his feet, body swaying underneath Shiro. “You feel—feel so good, but this is—fuck.” Keith shakes his head and he presses back against Shiro as much as their position will let them, his eyes slipping to half-closed.

Shiro studies Keith carefully. He could be insulted, or he could play Keith’s game—if Keith wants to fuck with him, Shiro will fuck with him right back.

“Hm,” he says. Every second they stand here unmoving is another second that stabs at Shiro’s patience, but he has a mantra for that. He can survive this. “Sounds to me like I shouldn’t fuck you if you’re going to act like this.” Shiro gropes at Keith’s ass, spreading him wider so Shiro has an eyeful of Keith’s obscene stretch around him. 

Keith rasps, “As if you could stop yourself.”

“Baby boy, I’ll spend the rest of the night using you to warm my cock if you don’t straighten up.” Shiro hits him, unrepentantly hard, and it finally gets Keith to react.

“Daddy—hn—”

“Beg me for my cock,” Shiro says. God, Keith’s ass is going to be so sore tomorrow, and Shiro eagerly awaits permission to care for it. “Beg me, now, or I’ll spank you until you’re crying and spend the whole night inside you without giving you what you want.”

It wouldn’t be a hardship. 

“Fuck me,” Keith gasps. He stops looking at himself in the mirror so he can beg Shiro with his eyes, too, and Shiro can’t fault him for that. His eyes are so pretty, shining with unshed tears, and all Shiro can think is that he wants to see them spilling down Keith’s cheeks. “Fuck me so I—I can come with you inside me, please, I’m sorry, it’s all I thought about.”

Shiro rewards him with a leisurely roll of hips, his mouth curling up at the corner in satisfaction. Not the fucking Keith wants, but Keith thanks him for it all the same.

“That’s good, that’s so good, baby,” Shiro soothes. “Watch yourself, remember. You know I’ll always take care of you when you’re good for me.”

Keith’s nod is shaky.

“Beautiful,” Shiro says. He fucks Keith a little harder but keeps the slide back out slow, the way that always drives Keith crazy. “Do you see how absolutely gorgeous you look?”

“Heh,” Keith says, a breathless little noise of confusion. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

Too warm, Shiro drives his cock home and holds Keith there while he sheds his suit jacket and tosses it to the floor. If Shiro is honest with himself, the sight of Keith falling apart completely naked underneath a clothed body drives him crazy, and he wants Keith to understand even a tenth of the beauty Shiro sees in him like this. When Keith is crying, red-faced, practically drooling, sobbing with his need—when he’s given in completely, handed his trust irrevocably to Shiro—that’s when he is the most beautiful. 

“Keep watching,” Shiro says, because he isn’t going to punish Keith for not understanding yet. He’s not refusing, just unseeing. 

Shiro goes faster, harder, and Keith has to scramble to keep up with him—Keith lifts his chest and braces his elbows on the counter and Shiro hums approvingly when it gives him more resistance to meet.

"Tell me, baby," Shiro says, "do you like what you see?"

Keith doesn't answer, his eyes flicking up with uncertainty, which won't do. They're both panting so hard that Shiro has to try and catch his breath—there's a time and a place for disaffection but he wants Keith to know how much this means to him. 

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" Shiro asks. He fucks Keith steadily and waits for an answer to come.

"I don't—" Keith rasps. He has to catch himself on a gasp. "It's not my—my thing."

"Your thing?" Shiro leans down, cupping Keith's chin in his gloved hand and tilting it up. "What's not to love, baby? You look so—so desperate and hungry. Look at it, right in your eyes."

Keith whines and tries to shift his focus, but Shiro makes it hard for him. He slams inside Keith at an angle he  _ knows _ is good, both hands holding tight to Keith’s hips, and watches Keith's open mouth grapple with pleasure and words all in the same breath. His eyes, normally so bright and attentive, look unfocused and hazy with pleasure. Shiro is proud of putting that look on Keith's face, he really is, but he asked Keith a question. He expects an answer.

Shiro squeezes Keith's throat just below the jaw once. A warning. It pulls Keith back to the surface with a ragged gasp.

"Tell me what you see," Shiro growls. 

Keith's eyelids flutter. "Your—your hand," he moans, sweet as anything. "Your hand—so big, around me, please, I want—"

Shiro grabs Keith’s hips again and fucks in hard, the sharp smack of skin sounding three times in quick succession, and then he drags his cock out of Keith just to watch the shock and betrayal flash across his face in the mirror. Keith looks so upset that Shiro can't help but laugh, low and long in his throat. He pushes two fingers back inside Keith—they go so easily now that Keith is open wider. Shiro tugs at the rim.

“How many do you think I could fit in?” Shiro asks.

"What?" Keith asks, dazed.

"I said, slut, how many do you think I can fit in?"

Keith looks shocked and black-eyed at the insult, and the reason Shiro knows he likes it is because his hips twitch forward with arousal. Shiro has every one of Keith’s reactions catalogued for the greater good of their sex life.

"I—I don't know," Keith finally says. "Four is—is—"

"Four is enough for you?"

As demonstration, Shiro slides a third and then a fourth finger in, stretching Keith wide around him. His cock aches at the sight, demanding to be back inside Keith's tight warmth. He won't give in yet.

“Would my fist be enough for you? Would that fill your slutty hole up, baby?”

Keith chokes on a sob. “You'll—but—the gloves.”

“Yeah, babe. This isn't what you imagined when you bought these for me?”

With a shake of his head, Keith protests, but still he pushes back into Shiro’s touch. His hips move from side to side again like he thinks he can tempt Shiro into giving him more to work with, but Shiro just laughs and pulls his fingers back until it’s just the tips of them tugging at Keith’s rim. 

"Maybe later, baby boy."

Shiro pushes his cock back inside without reservation and Keith's cry almost masks the crack of Shiro slapping his ass while he does it. God, Keith is so good for him, pleading with half-sensical phrases and pretty, hurt noises. His head drops down to the counter but Shiro doesn't punish him; his point has been made and now Shiro only has one goal.

Every sob Keith makes spurs Shiro on and drives him faster, wilder, chasing the raging warmth curled tight in his belly and using Keith to get there.

Keith whines through it, a long drawn out groan that Shiro loves. He moves along with Shiro’s hands on his hips pulling him back over and over onto Shiro’s cock just to get that little bit more force behind every thrust. It’s loud, the way their skin meets, and Shiro loses his composure at the sound. He fucks Keith until he’s practically  _ screaming _ for Shiro to keep going, to never stop, saying thank you and please and all sorts of half-words that aren’t words at all but sounds of pure desperation and pleasure.

He’s Shiro’s wild thing, begging with his body for Shiro to come inside him.

At that half-crazed thought, it's over in what feels like a matter of seconds, Shiro driving all the way home with the force of his whole body as he comes inside Keith, head thrown back and teeth bared to the ceiling in an inhuman snarl. Keith doesn't stop whining out little hurt sounds and whispering  _ please _ under his breath over and over, almost like he doesn't know he's saying it.

The heat of the moment takes over as Shiro pulls out. God, but Keith is marked completely, inside and out. He'll be dripping with Shiro's come in a matter of time and his ass is bright red. Bright, beautiful, claiming red.

Shiro touches Keith's stretched hole with purpose, a leather-clad thumb sliding just the length of a fingernail inside. He can't catch his breath, not with this in front of him.

"How badly do you wanna come?" Shiro rasps. He's entranced by Keith's body.

"Please, please let me," Keith answers, stretching up onto his toes and pushing his ass back in Shiro's direction, head dropping low.

Shiro is drunk on his orgasm and utterly taken with the sinful thing Keith turns into when he wants something this much.

"Bad enough to let me try to put my whole fist inside you?"

Shiro holds his breath. They've talked about this before but never had the inclination to really go through with it, and now—now Shiro wants it more than he ever has before. A shiver rolls up Keith's spine when Shiro asks him, and he's nodding before all the words are even out of Shiro's mouth.

"Baby, words."

"Use your fist," Keith says. He drags his head up from where his forehead was resting on his clenched hands and meets Shiro's gaze in the mirror, eyes shining with tears but nonetheless pleading. "Fill me up, please, it's never enough and I—"

The sentence ends abruptly and Shiro considers. 

"And you what?"

"I—maybe I thought about this. Too. While you were gone."

Shiro licks his lips at the thought and sighs out hard through his nose. His cock twitches at the words, ever valiant, and Shiro considers the possibility that one day this man will inadvertently kill him.

"You're perfect," Shiro tells him, earnest and unable to keep it in. Keith’s face manages to turn redder at the compliment. . 

If this is breaking scene, then fuck it. Shiro needs Keith to hear that and know how much Shiro loves him for every single part of him, right down to the core where Keith is messy and filthy and wonderful. Shiro could touch him every hour and never tire; could spend every minute sharing Keith's breath and never exhaust his love.

The trust is unlike anything else.

"Spread your legs more," Shiro says. "Make room for me."

Keith’s stance widens to the point where there’s nowhere else to go, his lower belly pressed fully against the countertop and his cock hanging between his legs. Shiro strokes a finger down it but gives Keith no more stimulation than that, delighting in the hitched sigh it brings him. Shiro loves this, loves the look of Keith with his strong legs spread as wide as they’ll go, unsteady and utterly at Shiro’s mercy. The line of his back, his round ass, the messy hair at the base of his neck—all of it, beautiful. Shiro wants to put marks all over Keith’s skin and own him in a way that not even their wedding rings can make real.

It’s hot and visceral, and so is Keith’s moan as Shiro pushes two fingers inside him  _ again  _ without hesitation. He drives inside Keith’s body because he wants to, because he knows Keith will take it, and because Keith always thanks him for it. His vulnerability is hardwon, but Shiro has it now. He has the unique power to turn Keith to mush and he intends to use it. 

“Love you like this,” Shiro says. His voice is rough with emotion and he swallows to keep it in. “You make me work for it, but I know how to break you, baby boy. I know how to get you to be good.”

Keith shudders. Even his ragged breathing is beautiful.

Shiro still wants to do a lot of things to Keith tonight, the sooner the better. But there’s a stronger urge, a desire that goes even deeper. More than anything, Shiro wants to hold Keith, to look him in the eye, and so he pulls his fingers out and gently tugs Keith to stand on wobbly legs. Keith totters as Shiro turns him around and his head tips back so his eyes can meet Shiro’s.

Shiro guides him to steadiness, nudging Keith’s arms up to wrap around Shiro’s neck. Keith’s mouth is uncoordinated in their kiss, and Shiro likes the way it shows him how far gone Keith is. He bites at Keith’s lip and all it gets him is a sigh.

Perfect.

“Hop up?” Shiro asks in between kisses, his fingers ghosting at Keith’s thighs to show what he means.

Keith nods like he’s entranced, but he doesn’t hop. He lifts one leg and lets Shiro get a hold of it before letting the second follow naturally. He’s probably sore, and Shiro feels bad only up until Keith’s ankles lock tight around his back with characteristic strength. Sore he might be, but Keith is ever a force to be reckoned with.

Shiro kisses him on the mouth and then the cheeks, nose, and forehead, delighting in the way Keith scrunches up his face in protest. His eyes are slightly glazed over, still floating, and Shiro holds him close for it. 

They totter into the bedroom. Shiro is no slouch in the carrying his husband department, but it’s hard to balance any weight at all when his thighs are still weak from coming so hard and his whole body swims   with endorphins. Keith’s hard cock presses against his stomach, held tight between them and doubtlessly making a mess of Shiro’s button down shirt. It’s a small price to pay.

Shiro guides Keith down to the bed, helps him untangle his legs from around Shiro’s waist.

“Are you ready for me, baby boy?”

Keith licks his lips and nods. “Yes, daddy,” he murmurs.

“And you’re going to be good?”

Keith blinks up at him, lazy like a cat and hazy with a lack of coherency. “Mhmm.”

He says he’ll be good, but his legs are closed tight on the bed before Shiro. Shoving them open, Shiro slaps at Keith’s thigh in warning. Keith breathes out an apology and spreads his knees wider, planting his heels as far apart as they’ll go and baring himself completely to Shiro.

“That’s it,” Shiro says. He goes for the lube first, lingering down by his own knees, and he’s generous with it before his touch returns to Keith’s ass. “These gloves look incredible on your skin, baby. I think I might have to punish you again later for not telling me how much you want this.”

Keith squirms at that but doesn’t protest. Shiro’s gaze flicks up, suspicious, and he catches the tail end of a smug, pleased expression.

This man.

Keith takes three fingers like he was born for it. The smugness fades into a little gasp and a wrinkle between his brows, his default expression when Shiro brushes past his prostate and denies him a shot of pleasure up his spine.

"Daddy," Keith sighs. He plants his heels onto the bed and rolls his hips into Shiro's touch.

Shiro presses a biting kiss to the skin of Keith's inner thigh, drinking in the taste of his skin and the gut punch of a moan he lets out in protest. Keith's thighs bruise so easily under Shiro's touch, just thin, pale skin stretched over powerful thighs. Keith's muscles clench underneath Shiro's touch as he welcomes his fingers inside, utterly gorgeous to feel.

He tries his best to be relentless. That's how Keith likes it, borderline out of his control and unending as Shiro fills him up. Keith stretches wide open for him, not even protesting at the fourth finger, and Shiro’s breath comes faster.

There’s something about the trust here that gets to Shiro. He presses inside Keith, feels the most intimate spaces of his body and the way Keith physically relaxes just to let him inside, and Shiro doesn’t need skin to skin sensation to appreciate that. He licks teasingly at the base of Keith’s cock and then down to his hole, tongue swiping over the stretched rim and goading Keith into whimpering. It’s a power high all to itself and Shiro has to center himself when Keith sobs at the touch of Shiro’s thumb to where his tongue just was.

“Ready?”

A huff through Keith’s nose, and somehow his thighs spread farther apart. Shiro’s mouth goes dry—he could put Keith in any position he wanted, and Keith would acquiesce with joy.

“Do it,” Keith pants, “fuck me, daddy, please.”

Keith is   ready but the tone of his voice is so sweet that Shiro isn’t anymore. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You’re still so tight for me. Stretching so wide, but you’re so tiny, baby boy. You think you can make enough room for me?”

“Yes,” Keith says, immediate and broken. “Yes yes yes, please, I need it, I’ll let—I’ll let you in, daddy, promise, I—”

“Hush.”

Shiro wraps a hand around the back of Keith’s left thigh—spread wide, it takes up half the circumference, and isn’t that something to consider when he’s feeling lonely?—and pushes it up until it hits Keith’s chest. Keith takes it, easy, his heel kicked up in the air even as it spreads himself wholly. There’s no shame anymore—and maybe shame is impossible now, Keith’s legs more open than they’ve ever been and Shiro’s thumb tucking itself just inside Keith’s hole.

He’s tight.

He’s so tight, but still he yields. Shiro’s cock was nothing compared to this.

So careful in his movements, Shiro can’t ignore the way his cock  _ throbs _ at the sight before him. They’re up to the widest part of his hand now, right around the final set of knuckles. Keith is sweet inside and sweet to listen to, babbling above Shiro in a litany of Shiro’s name combined with bitten-off swears and the word  _ please,  _ over and over and over until Shiro can’t stand it.

“Fuck,” he growls. His voice is alien even to himself, and it makes Keith shudder from his head to his toes. “You’re so fucking—god, baby. Desperate. My desperate baby boy.”

_ “Yessss.” _

He’s all the way inside now. There’s a final inch between the start of Keith’s body and the end of Shiro’s glove, but he’s wrist deep inside his husband. Shiro forgets the scene, forgets himself as he moves his hand. All he does is twist it, rotating it barely to the right, but Keith moans in pleasure   with his head thrown all the way back, hands fisting themselves in the sheets.

“So—so good,” he says, sobbing even more than he’s talking. “Da—daddy, please,  _ please, _ I need—I need—”

Keith loses his words.

“What is it, baby?” Shiro asks. He moves to make a fist and Keith bends around him. How is that as hot as it is?

Keith moans, “Mmph.”

“God,” Shiro says. He hardly recognizes the thoughts in his head or the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re just—fuck, baby, you’re so fucking open for me. Is this what you like? Is this finally enough for you, my fucking fist inside you, making you open up just so I can take you?”

“Daddy—”

“Do you know how hard it is not to call you a slut right now?”

“‘M not—”

“Yeah, I know.” Shiro presses inside Keith deeper, takes Keith’s words right out of his throat that way. “It’s just me, isn’t it? You wouldn’t take this from anyone else. Fucking—I don’t even know what you are. Needy. And nasty, too, baby boy, don’t think I forgot that you touched yourself while I was gone and thought about my fist.”

Keith’s hips won’t stop moving, twitching endlessly up into Shiro’s touch. “You—you don’t get it,” Keith cries, “when you’re gone I just get so—I’m so empty, daddy.”

“I’m going to buy you something then.” Shiro nips hard at the inside of Keith’s knee. “You’d take pictures for me.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Keith says. His hips screw down into Shiro’s pace, growing steady and slow. “There’s nothing like you, daddy, nothing else I could take—only you, only  _ ever you, fuck—” _

“Just me,” Shiro repeats “If it’s just me, you can come just like this, right?”

“Shiro . . . .”

“That’s right, baby, show me how much you love me. How much you love being fucked until you’re breaking.”

Shiro doesn’t even think anymore about his words as they come out of his mouth. He hears them, but the way Keith’s limbs shake captures all of his attention. The leg Shiro doesn’t have secured in place pushes against the bed to find purchase and sanity, but Keith’s heel slips on the sheets. He’s caught exactly where Shiro has him. 

The whole time, Shiro keeps his moderate pace, never thrusting too deep or fast. This is about the stretch more than anything else. It’s about keeping Keith spread open and pushing the very depths of pleasure to the ultimate limit, finally filling him like he wants.

It’s magical, then, to observe as Keith moves from a shaking mass of limbs to a stock still freeze, his back arching up and his head dropping back out of Shiro’s sight as he comes, cock splattering all over his belly. He’s beautiful and Shiro watches what he can see with utter awe, arousal throbbing in the pit of his stomach. He wants Keith so badly in that moment, so much that he can’t even name what he wants to do to him. Everything, maybe—to fuck him hard or take his mouth or bite his nipples or grip his hips hard enough to break skin. Anything. 

Keith collapses in on himself. A shiver wracks his spine and Shiro is brutal in his refusal to stop. Fascinated, he makes Keith beg for him to quit moving, forces him to the point of overstimulation that he can’t   handle.

“Holy shit,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith whimpers in response.

It takes everything Shiro has in him to pull his gloved fist out of Keith, finger by finger. He has vivid images of the face Keith might make if Shiro kept fucking him, made him come again around Shiro’s fist, sobbing and begging for the end.

Shiro could fuck him so good. But maybe tonight isn’t the best night for unplanned marathon fisting.

Keith is still dripping white and shiny around the rim when Shiro pulls out, his glove filthy with a mixture of lube and Shiro’s own release, and Shiro can’t help himself. He leans in and moans as he licks over Keith’s hole, sealing his mouth around it and licking the taste of himself out. Keith whimpers, high pitched, and the way he says Shiro’s name is absolutely agonized.

But even as he whines and his hips pull away, trying again, fruitless, to get away from Shiro’s touch, he never asks for him to stop. So Shiro doesn’t—he pulls back for a moment to admire his work, licking his lips for the taste and stripping the gloves from his hands so he doesn’t make too much of a mess. Gently, he uses his elbow to knock Keith’s legs further apart. It’s a shame Shiro didn’t stop at their bedroom on his way to greet Keith, who would look even more beautiful on his knees with his hands cuffed tight behind his back and a bar spreading his legs almost to the point of collapse.

God, Shiro wants him again.

“Hold yourself open for me, baby,” Shiro says. He hardly waits for Keith’s shaking hands to appear before he dives back in, eating Keith out with an unreserved enthusiasm while he rubs Keith’s shaking thighs, the soft, dark hair there prickling at his touch. Keith’s noises are beyond fucked out and Shiro is half hard again just from hearing him and tasting him.

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers, drawing out the  _ o. _ He sounds as sweet as milk chocolate   and Shiro wishes he could bottle that voice for hard days.

“Baby,” Shiro answers. He leans back to stare at Keith’s hole in awe, too open to hide what Shiro has done to him. The way it sucked him in, Keith’s whole body begging for Shiro in a way that not even his mouth can.

Shiro slides two rough fingers over the pink rim, admiring how big his knuckles look next to it. He wants to fuck Keith again, fuck him until he’s screaming and hoarse, until he doesn’t know anything except the way Shiro’s cock renders him into a drooling, sobbing mess. 

Shiro can’t believe how pent-up he is. He can’t believe it, and yet he still pushes bare two fingertips inside Keith just to watch him take it. 

Keith is thoroughly owned and still Shiro is not done.

“Daddy,” Keith says urgently, “daddy, please, I don’t think I can—”

Keith cuts himself off with a whimper and Shiro nudges his fingers a tiny fraction of an inch deeper. “Use your words.”

“Please don’t fuck me again,” Keith says in a rush. “It’s too much, I’m so—”

“Shh, baby boy, I’ve got you.” Shiro can’t deny the pang of disappointment, but he pulls his fingers out and licks the flat of his tongue over Keith’s hole to soothe.

A shaky sigh.

Shiro levers himself up, sitting back on his knees,   and surveys Keith beneath him. His strong, defined chest heaves with every breath and Shiro admires the play of muscle. This is the most beautiful man in the world, right here, submitting to Shiro with a generous trust. 

Shiro   undoes the buttons on his shirt and lets it fall to the floor behind him, followed closely by his pants and underwear. The belt clanks as it hits the ground, and it leaves Shiro free to plant both hands on either side of Keith’s chest and notch his hard cock in the line of Keith’s ass and rub against him, half teasing and half longing. Keith would take it, if Shiro kept him down and asked him to be good for daddy. They have a safeword, if he really doesn’t want it. That’s what it’s for.

For a moment, he toys with the fantasy. Keith’s eyes are blurry with tears but his cheeks aren’t wet with the sobs Shiro knows he could tear out of him.

He kisses Keith before there are words, feeding Keith the taste of himself and Shiro. Tactile sensation returned to his hands, Shiro drags his fingers over Keith’s skin, petting him with hunger in every touch. The way Keith sinks into it is lazy and luxurious, like a spoiled cat stretching in the sun, and Keith runs his fingers through the top of Shiro’s head, nails scratching. A cat indeed.

When Shiro looks into Keith’s eyes, he finds the hazy blankness he hoped for. Keith blinks slowly at him, his face so relaxed that it looks younger than normal.

“One more time, baby boy,” Shiro whispers. He leans their foreheads together. “Can you do one more time for me?”

Keith shudders out a breath that ghosts over Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro rolls his hips down into Keith’s and Keith gasps. He isn’t hard but Shiro bets he could get Keith there, easy. Keith chokes on another breath as Shiro presses their hips together, grinding down in a regular motion as he kisses Keith.

Keith clings to him, wraps a leg around the back of one of Shiro’s thighs, and Shiro holds Keith’s face in his palm as they kiss. It’s the slow and dirty kind that Shiro only pulls out when he wants to get Keith riled up, goading him with lips and tongue into moving in time with Shiro. Their mouths come apart for breath and Keith bites at Shiro’s bottom lip in the interim, keeping him close.

He doesn’t stop until Shiro tears himself a way and threads his fingers through Keith’s hair to keep him down.

“That’s not an answer, baby,” Shiro says, ragged. He reaches a hand between them and finds Keith half-hard already, whimpering into the touch as Shiro strokes him gently. “Will you let me fuck you?”

“I want—” Keith starts. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“You want my cock?”

Keith nods.

“But you don’t know if you can take it,” Shiro says in understanding.

Keith’s bottom lip quivers. “‘M sorry,” he whispers.

_ “Baby,”  _ Shiro says, dragging it out long and low. “Baby, you don’t have to apologize to me. You’ve been so good. So,  _ so  _ good for me.”

“But you want—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I wanna fuck you again,” Shiro interrupts. He slides half off Keith’s body so his hand can move easily on Keith’s cock, steady and sure, coaxing him the rest of the way to hardness. “I bet you could take it, baby. You’re so wet and so—so open down there. And I’ve missed you so much.” Keith whimpers through a closed mouth and Shiro sucks a bruise on the hinge of his jaw. Fuck subtlety. “God, baby, I touch myself thinking about you when you’re not with me, and it’s never enough.”

Keith swallows and rolls his head slightly to the side, just enough to catch Shiro’s eye. “You do?”

“How could I not?”

An anticipatory silence falls, broken only by Keith’s hot little breaths ghosting Shiro’s cheek and the pounding of Shiro’s heart in his ears. Poised on the precipice of feeling, Shiro tries to keep himself in check.

Keith speaks so quietly that Shiro almost misses it.

“Do it,” he says, turning his cheek into Shiro’s hair. “Please.”

“You’re so needy,” Shiro says, tucking his nose into the space behind his ear. He drags his teeth over the sensitive skin there and Keith shivers. “But I guess I can do that for you, if you need it so bad.”

“F-fuck you,” Keith moans. There’s no bite to it.

Shiro slides his hand down from Keith’s cock to his thigh, spreading him wide open again and falling into the space between his legs. He doesn’t answer Keith’s curse, just gets himself into position and slides all the way inside Keith, slamming his hips so hard that their skin slaps together.

Keith honest to god screams, his body shaking like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. Shiro drives inside him with a relentless pace, refusing to give Keith a moment to adjust. He’s plenty stretched and the overstimulation isn’t going to calm down any time soon—--and Shiro loves making Keith struggle. Keith’s legs squeeze around Shiro’s waist like he’s trying to push him out of the way, but Shiro has the upper hand in this position. He sets a hard, deep pace, relentless but not fast, and he revels in how Keith goes wordless.

“That’s it, baby, be good for me,” Shiro pants. He presses a messy, off-center kiss to Keith’s temple, one last moment of closeness before pushing himself up, angling for a better place of leverage so he can give it to Keith like they both deserve.

He has to stop moving while he readjusts. Keith makes a noise of distress and Shiro shushes him, wrapping a hand around Keith’s thigh to push it back against Keith’s chest for the second time that night. 

That’s hot.

It stops Shiro in his tracks, looking down at Keith like this. Keith’s eyes are half-lidded but wild, breathing so fast that his mouth hangs open in this way that makes Shiro want to fuck him until it’s gaping. 

Shiro slides out of Keith, considering.

He ignores Keith’s hurt little protest and strokes a hand down the length of Keith’s other leg as if to soothe him. “Like this,” Shiro says, pushing it back so that both of Keith’s thighs are pressed to Keith’s chest, spreading him wide open. “Yeah, baby? Can you hold them there for me?”

With a shaky nod, Keith’s hands wrap around the backs of his knees.

“There we go. Fuck.”

Shiro sits back and admires him—the strength of his muscles, his dark hair haloed out around his head, the skin of his ass pink from Shiro laying into him earlier, hard cock laying on his stomach. He’s thought it a million times tonight, but it’s still true: Keith is beautiful and Shiro wants to devour him.

Shiro curses under his breath again. 

He lines his cock up with Keith’s hole and it just looks—--obscene, is the only word for it. He can’t believe this. Can’t believe that Keith is his and that he lets Shiro do this.

Keith takes him so easily. Shiro loves it, this and the look on Keith’s face, and he can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Baby,” he moans, pushing inside. “Baby boy, you’re—--fuck, you’re perfect. Perfect for me.”

“Da—-- _ ah.” _

‘That’s right.” Shiro fucks him hard, admiring how Keith’s face is caught somewhere on the boundary of pleasure and pain. He leans down over Keith, kissing the side of his calf because it’s the closest part of Keith he can reach. “Let me hear you,” he says. Shiro is half out of his mind. “I wanna hear you, baby, want you to  _ scream  _ for me.”

Keith bites his lip and groans, head dropping back and baring his throat. Shiro wants to bite at his pale, smooth skin there but the angle is all wrong so he makes do with admiring it from afar.

Keith gets louder and louder as Shiro goes, moaning out Shiro’s name and saying yes and crying and begging him and there’s—

There’s only so much Shiro can do.

He’s sweating, doing his best to control the pace and not fuck Keith so hard that it hurts. He holds the rhythm, completely unable to look away from Keith’s face. 

“That’s it,” Shiro pants. “There we go, baby, you take me so—--fucking—--well—”

One of Keith’s hands slips from behind his knee. Shiro catches it in his own hand, pushing it out to the side, and with that new space between Keith’s knees, he goes in for a kiss. Keith does his best to answer it, messy and uncoordinated with tears on his cheeks and Shiro loves him so much for it. It’s enough to make heat pool in Shiro’s stomach as he loses control, second by second. 

His second orgasm hits   maybe a million times harder than the first. Shiro practically doubles over, feeling it all the way down to his fucking toes as it washes over him. His hips slam completely against Keith, fucking into him so deep and good that he could cry himself with the sensation. He moans Keith’s name and shakes like a leaf in the wind, his whole body completely out of his control.

It’s utterly divine.

Shiro thinks, at first, that his vision blacks out, leaving him leaning over Keith and panting into the darkness, but the truth is, he just isn’t aware enough of his body to realize his eyes are closed.

He feels drunk with pleasure and adrenaline coursing through his body and it’s only muscle memory that has him pulling out, Keith’s soft moan barely registering. He pulls Keith’s legs down, pries them open enough that Shiro can fit his shoulders between them, and he swallows Keith’s dick whole.

Keith shouts at it and Shiro moans in response. He keeps it wet and messy and fast, sucking hard at the head and licking at the slit, just the way he knows Keith likes it. 

He doesn’t think about anything except getting Keith off. He deserves it.

He’s been so good.

Keith comes down his throat with the weakest, most tortured cry, his hips bucking up towards Shiro. He’s completely lost control over his own body, Shiro bets, and that pleases him so much that he doesn’t even mind when Keith pushes too deep and Shiro chokes on him in surprise as he tries to swallow.

It’s perfect, the taste of him in Shiro’s mouth. Keith won’t stop letting out these tiny, shivery moans, and Shiro kisses his thighs, his hips, everything. He makes his way up Keith’s body, pressing a kiss to every inch of skin he climbs until he’s level with Keith’s face and can sigh into his mouth. It’s hardly even a kiss, then, just an artless press of mouths, and Shiro’s body is weak but he wraps Keith up tight in his arms.

For the longest time, all Shiro can do is just lay there with him. Keith locks his arms around Shiro in turn, both of them laying on their sides, chest to chest. Their legs tangle. Shiro imagines that his heart beat matches Keith’s, that the reason Keith tucks his face into the crook of Shiro’s shoulder is to match the pace of his breathing to Shiro’s.

He feels euphoria.

Time passes slowly. Or maybe it’s very fast, but Shiro doesn’t have any idea what time it is anyway. Maybe he dozes or maybe he’s just coming down from some of the best sex of his life.

Keith needs him. That’s all Shiro really cares about: holding Keith tight with his prosthetic hand gently laced through the back of Keith’s hair to hold him gently. 

At some point, they disentangle enough that Shiro makes it back into the bathroom for a washcloth and a soothing balm for Keith’s abused skin. He doesn’t remember much of it later except the confused, sleepy noise Keith makes when Shiro has to extract himself from his hold. He’s so sweet when he’s fucked out and exhausted, and he makes Shiro promise to come back before he unwraps his arms from around him.

Shiro would promise him anything, honestly. Coming back to bed is nothing.

“I love you,” he whispers into Keith’s hair when the lights are out. He kisses him there, and then on the forehead, just because he can.

Keith replies with a grumble and a leg hooking itself over Shiro’s naked hip.

Shiro doesn’t let him go that whole night. 

**Author's Note:**

> come hang on [twitter](https://twitter.com/disloyalpunk) for more mentions of sheith + fisting!


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